Following on from yesterday’s taster, let’s again talk food.
Of late, on Facebook groups and probably others to which I am not privy, there has been some dissent in the ranks, concerning this fact: We now have an Indian restaurant on Symi.
Oh my word/days/life/god/whatever! You’d have thought it was the end of the world. I can’t remember the last time the blue skies over the island were so filled with the sounds of weeping and wailing, the gnashing of dentures, and the rustle of crinoline as pearls are clutched so tightly to the bosom. An Indian restaurant… on Symi? ‘We don’t want this.’ ‘It’s only for the English.’ ‘Never before has such a crime against my personage been so been foisted upon…. I can hardly speak for outrage.’
Get over it, people.
You know, I don’t often sound off about naysayers, but when you hear (or when, as has happened, you are confronted as though everything was your fault), that this spells the end of Greekness, and when you have to listen to things such as the above and ‘We don’t want Indian food on holiday in Greece’ there comes a point when one cracks like a poppadom.
Right. If you don’t want something different when on holiday, don’t go there. No disrespect to any of the fine eateries on the island, nor to the nation’s cuisine, but if you actually lived on the island 24/7/365 rather than thinking you own it for your two weeks a year, you crave for something other than meat and chips, Greek salad and bread.
Which is what George and I did on Monday; we wanted something different for our evening out and so, booked a table. We weren’t the first to arrive, although we were early, there were four Greek people on one table… read that again you would be Reformers… four local, Symi-Greek people were there enjoying their dinner. Later, a table of ten very regular visitors arrived, plus others. My godson was there, and apart from being born and brought up on the island, he’s also a chef for another establishment, and he was having a great meal. As did we.
I’m not one for photographing me dinner, but I got a quick snap before the other dish arrived. Each one was perfect, very tasty, and well presented, the meat was succulent, and had I been a judge on Australian MasterChef, or a pretentious food critic, I would have said something like: The combination of spices played a complicated yet satisfying polyphony which underscored the moistness of the meat, itself a symphony of harmonic taste agreement which resulted in a perfect cadence of gorgeousness… or some other such claptrap. It was lovely, and not costly either.
It’s at the back of the town square, so not on the harbour front affronting grumpy casual visitors, it’s opposite the children’s play park, next to the courier, ACS, which you can’t miss because that building is a lovely vibrant red. If you’re thinking of going, I’d advise booking because it’s already a very popular place, and the phone number is on the menu which I’ll post below. (English is spoken, so even Mrs Armitage-Shanks of Reformton will be able to make herself understood, not that she’ll go there.)
